


Adventures In Cashiering

by lapsus_calami



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Individual yet connected stories in each chapter, Not All Characters Present In Each Chapter, a day in the life of a cashier, and yes i am aware of what 'cashiering' means, because they're funny as hell, disclaimer i am not a cashier and never have been, i do however work a concierge desk, it was stupid only scott had a job okay, like eighty percent of these stories come from that not always right website, stiles is a cashier and customers are super weird, these are supposed to be chronological but...they're not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9285134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapsus_calami/pseuds/lapsus_calami
Summary: Stiles is a cashier. These are his stories.





	1. The One With No IDea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles learns Peter shops the same way he does everything else. Like an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this](https://notalwaysright.com/no-id-no-idea-part-26/55881). 
> 
> And this [post](http://little-red-and-his-wolves.tumblr.com/post/155588892656/so-i-saw-this-post-talking-about-how-teen-wolf) explains why this story exists.

**The One With No IDea**

Three o'clock. Stiles was officially on shift for another eight hours of  _wonderful_ and underpaid work. And today Stiles had the wonderful honor of working register fourteen. The one with all the tobacco products. Yay him. 

Stiles drummed his fingers on the counter fighting the urge to turn around and look at the clock behind him. His father had gotten him a watch eight weeks after he started this job because he'd constantly complained about not being able to easily check the time while he was working. He'd proudly worn it for six days before figuring out that the ability to check the time just by glancing at his wrist really fucked with his brain, and on bad days he had a habit of staring at the ticking little hands literally counting down each second until his shift ended. By day nine he'd stopped wearing it at work and by thirteen it had been unfortunately misplaced. Honestly it was still misplaced. But it would turn up. Hopefully. 

"Workin' fourteen today, kiddo?" Angela observed as she swept on by, continuing on before Stiles could even answer. "Sucks for you. Glad it's not me." 

"Thanks," Stiles returned wryly. 

Angela shrugged, tucking a loose curl behind her ear and wrinkling her nose when it got caught in her little skull earring. "You're welcome." 

"So what are you doing?" Stiles asked beginning to ring up the purchases of Cathy Hall, a customer so old and so regular Stiles didn't even have to ask what brand she wanted or check her ID. She was also notoriously hard of hearing which meant that as long as Stiles smiled and nodded at her she'd be happy even if he had a full conversation with Angela. "Haven't seen you up front since I got here." 

"Oh yeah," Angela said with an insincere smile. The kind that looked bright and cheerful on first glance but was really just hiding the soul-crushing despair that lived inside all those who worked in retail. All the cashiers had that smile down pat. "Apparently, I'm stocking today." 

Stiles snorted. "That's not in your job description." 

"Apparently," Angela said again with a long suffering sigh, "it's included in the fine print section under  _other duties as assigned._ " 

Stiles hummed finishing up Ms. Hall's transaction and handing over the receipt with a grin. "Don't we have stock people for that?" he asked as Ms. Hall tottered away. "Like, Andy or Jocelyn?" 

"Jocelyn's off and Andy was fired, remember?" 

Stiles just blinked. Andy must have fucked up big time to get fired. The Green Tree was so chronically understaffed that it was almost impossible to get fired without doing something monumentally terrible. At least, that was what Marsha told him when she'd been training him four days before she up and quit on the spot. The turn over rate for employees was quite high, but usually it was people cracking under the pressure to quit rather than being straight-out fired. Stiles had a half-baked theory that the owner hated all of them for some reason and gleaned a sort of pleasure out of making grown or partially grown adults cry and have mental breakdowns. So far he'd managed to sway Angela into believing at least part of it; Jason and Alex remained stubbornly unconvinced and Cheryl refused to discuss it with him.

"Wow," Stiles said, tone flat and unimpressed. "That...sucks. Didn't we just reach a point where we weren't understaffed?"

Angela gave a sharp nod. "Yep. Now we're down two again because Cady quit."

"Awesome. That's just awesome." 

"Yep. So, you'll probably be stocking at some point too." 

"Awesome," Stiles repeated blandly. He drummed his fingers against the counter. "Well, good luck to you. Lemme know if you find anything wildly out of place."

"You're funny, kiddo, you know that?" Angela said sweetly. For someone who wasn't much older than he was, chronologically at any rate, she sure did like to call him kiddo a lot. "The smallest things amuse you." 

"Where else would I find joy in my life?" Stiles asked only half rhetorically as another customer entered his lane. Angela just snorted and gave him a half-hearted wave as she disappeared into the shelves. Stiles rang his customer through not bothering to ask the obviously over thirty year old man for his ID when he bought three packs of cigarettes. If nothing else working register fourteen always made him feel eighty times more depressed over the amount of people literally smoking years of their lives away. He wasn't allowed to judge though, just had to keep his mouth shut and sell them cancer in a stick. 

One hundred eighty-six minutes later, two hundred fifty-seven before he could clock out and leave, two girls who looked not much older than Stiles came through his lane, one of them requesting a pack of cigarettes. Stiles nodded once and turned to retrieve the requested brand only to almost drop it when he turned back around and inadvertently met the gaze of one Peter Hale. Peter just smirked, cocking one eyebrow in a weird sort of greeting, while Stiles cleared his throat and tried to ignore him as he finished ringing through the girls' purchases. 

"I'll need to see ID, please," he said hoarsely explaining when the one girl looked a bit cross. "It's store policy to card anyone who looks under thirty." 

With a small huff of inconvenience the girl dug through her pockets eventually producing an ID. Stiles glanced over it quickly for any indications of fraud, checking for any errors, briefly noting her name as Chelsea, and finally confirming her birthdate. And, damn, she looked young for her age. 

"Thank you, ma'am," he said handing the ID back and finalizing the sale. "That'll be thirteen thirty-four. How would you like to pay today?"

"Cash," Chelsea said handing him a crisp twenty. Stiles nodded accepting the payment and slipping it in the drawer before counting out her change. 

"Change is a six sixty-six," he said handing it over with the receipt. Behind Chelsea Peter gave an exaggerated eyebrow waggle at the number, clearly finding it amusing. Stiles buried the urge to roll his eyes, forcing a partially sincere smile for the two women as he bid them a good day. Once they left Stiles let the smile fall off his face as he turned to face the devil incarnate. Maybe, probably. Stiles hadn't yet confirmed it but was sure it was a possibility.

"Hi," he said not bothering to inject any sort of cheer or pleasantness into his tone at all. "Did you find everything you needed today?" 

"Why, Stiles, do you use that tone with everyone or am I just special?"

Stiles arched an unamused brow and didn't deign to reply.

Peter sighed like Stiles had greatly disappointed him. "I did find everything," he said. He sat a bundle of rope, rubbing alcohol, and a country music CD on the belt. Stiles just blinked at it a moment before looking back at Peter. 

"Do I even want to know?" 

Peter's grinned, clearly enjoying every moment of discomfort he was causing. "Probably not. But if you ask nicely I might tell you." 

"You know what?" Stiles said wrinkling his nose a little. "I don't want to know." 

He grabbed the rope first ringing it up while Peter peered at the tobacco products behind him. As he was scanning the CD Peter leaned against the counter pointing vaguely. "Can I get a pack of Camels as well? Been a few years since I've had a smoke," he said. "Camel Blue." 

Stiles paused, slowly running the rubbing alcohol over the scanner as he judged Peter's sincerity before dropping the bottle in a bag and turning to retrieve the requested pack. He rang that up too and added it to the bag before clearing his throat. 

"Total is twenty-seven oh three." 

Peter smirked. "Aren't you going to card me?" 

It really wasn't necessary. Peter didn't look that old but Stiles knew he was over thirty. Not to mention a zombie werewolf recently returned from the dead; cigarettes weren't likely to do much harm to him. Unfortunately. Plus, Stiles really didn't want to prolong this interaction any more than absolutely required.

"Nope," Stiles said. "Cash or card?"

Peter arched one eyebrow. "Are you telling me I look old, Stiles? I'm offended."

"And I don't care." 

"Won't you get in trouble? I don't want to get you in trouble, Stiles." 

"Fine," Stiles grit out, standing up a little straighter. "May I see your ID, sir?" 

"Certainly," Peter replied with a wolfish grin, pulling his wallet out with a flourish and flipping it open to show Stiles his ID in the viewslot. Stiles sighed gripping the edge of his register to rein in the urge to punch something. Like Peter's stupid face. 

"Can you remove it from your wallet, please?" 

Peter arched a questioning eyebrow but pulled his ID from the slot and handed it over. Stiles accepted it gingerly noting the outdated address and, unfortunately, the glaringly obvious hole punched in the upper right corner. His stomach sank a little as he held it out for Peter to take back. 

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, "but this ID has a hole punched in it. That mean's it's invalid and we can't accept it." 

"What?" Peter said sounding genuinely puzzled. "No, it's valid." 

"Cheryl!" Stiles called never happier to see his manager walking by at precisely the right moment. She turned towards him immediately, features already arranged in her perfect _Of Course You're Right Sir But You're Wrong_ expression. "Mr. Hale's ID has a hole punched in it and he wishes to purchase a pack of cigarettes." 

Cheryl clucked her tongue lightly glancing from Peter to the ID to Stiles before looking back to Peter. "Nope," she said cheerfully, unaware that she was denying purchase to a man who could literally rip her throat out with his teeth. Maybe. Stiles had his own suspicious about Cheryl. "Sorry, sir, but we can't accept an ID that has a hole punched in it. We can't sell it to you unless you return with proper identification." 

Peter stared at them dumbly for a second while Stiles voided the cigarettes off his purchase and pulled them from the bag.

"Your total is twenty-two forty-seven." 

Still looking a little miffed Peter handed over a twenty and a five barely waiting for Stiles to count out his change before snatching his bag up and storming off in a huff. Stiles really hoped those cigarettes hadn't been a means of stress relief that could have meant someone lived instead of dying. Maybe he'd call Derek later just to make sure Peter didn't have anything untoward planned. There were far too many heinous acts that could be committed with rope, rubbing alcohol, and a Garth Brooks CD. On second thought maybe he should call Derek now. 

"I wasn't even going to card him," Stiles said after a moment. Cheryl turned towards him, brow lifted in surprise. "He insisted." 

 Cheryl laughed, eyes sparking with mischievousness as she winked at him and said, "Of course he did." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have any crazy cashier/clerk/customer service stories? Lemme know because they're funny as hell.
> 
> Random Front Desk Story:  
> On, like, the third day of work I let this delivery driver into the building who informed me he had food for a resident. The resident was coming down to the lobby to retrieve their food so the delivery man loitered awkwardly by the desk and made awkward conversation while we waited for the resident to take the however long it takes elevator ride down from whatever floor they live on to the lobby. By awkward conversation I mean it was awkward for me because the delivery man seemed totally at ease as he leaned against the desk, called me 'gorgeous' every other sentence, and proceeded to lecture me on why I should _take out another school loan rather than work while I was in school_.  
>  This delivery guy has been back twice since then. Both times he's called me 'gorgeous' like it's my name (we don't wear name tags at my job) and asked if I'd gotten the loan yet. I just sigh and say, "Clearly not because I'm still working here."


	2. The One With The Very Specific Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The customer wants a very specific brand of ice cream and the customer shall get the very specific brand of ice cream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[insp](https://notalwaysright.com/someone-will-scream-for-the-wrong-ice-cream/37967)]

**The One With The Very Specific Ice Cream**

"I hate it when you're right," Stiles complained loudly sliding another bottle of ketchup on the shelf. The store was practically empty at three minutes before closing time so his voice carried easily. "It annoys me when you're right." 

Stiles was counting down the seconds until Angela could lock the doors, sending up prayer after prayer to every god he knew of, and a few he'd made up, that no one would barge in during the next one hundred eighty seconds. The time right before closing always put him on high alert for customers waltzing in right before lockup for a two hours and thirty-eight minute shopping trip they were convinced they could do in five minutes. 

"You must be continuously annoyed then," Angela replied and Stiles could hear her drumming her nails against the register as she too counted down the time until she could lock up.

Stiles chuckled. "I exist in a constant state of annoyance. This is true. And you contribute to it, like, twelve percent of the time." 

"Are you saying I'm wrong a lot?" 

"An argument could be made for fifteen," Stiles quipped sliding more ketchup on the shelf. Stocking shelves always made him irrationally angry at certain products. He once avoided Oreos for a solid month when he had to reset a display six times in one week. His self-imposed boycott had caused his father to question his health. "I hate ketchup." 

"You say that now," Angela said. "But tomorrow you'll get ketchup with a side fries." 

Stiles snorted muttering under his breath,"Tomorrow? More like in thirty to forty minuets." He could never stay angry at ketchup.

"Shouldn't be stocking shelves long though," Angela continued drumming her fingers faster and harder now as they hit one hundred twenty-three seconds to closing time. "Supposedly they just hired two new guys. You know, as long as they pass their drug tests." 

Before he could reply Stiles caught the distinctive sound of the automatic doors sliding open and barely refrained from collapsing into the shelves and banging his head against the ketchup bottles. He heard Angela greet the customer chirpily, giving no indication of the burning irritation that must be bubbling through her. Her ability to sound pleasant and nice at all times was really an admirable trait. Whoever had come in, though, didn't bother to acknowledge her beyond a vague grunt. Stiles tracked the customer's footsteps as they approached then disappeared down an adjacent aisle.

Twenty seconds later the footsteps came up behind Stiles pausing for a second before going into the next aisle. Great. A grazer. Stiles and Angela would be lucky to get out of here in the next hour. 

Stiles slammed the last few bottles on the shelf with more force than necessary before turning back to his cart. Sixteen boxes down. Three boxes to go. 

"Hi," a voice said timidly.

Stiles jerked knocking a few bottles of ketchup over with his elbow as he spun around to stare at the slightly bedraggled looking man behind him. The man was tall, easily over six-feet, and looked like he'd just crawled out of bed. His jeans were probably down for the count over three years ago and his hoodie looked like he'd saved it from high school which, judging by his babyface, actually wasn't all that long ago. "Oh my God. How did you, never mind. Sorry. Um, yes, can I help you?"

"I need some vanilla Häagen-Dazs," the man said blinking incredibly blue eyes and sounding all of four years old. "Where are your freezers?"

"Um," Stiles said slowly pointing over his shoulder. "There in the back. Ice cream is on the far right." He unwittingly matched the man's slow speech wondering how he'd managed to miss the wall of freezers when he walked around the first two times. 

"Thank you," the man said standing for a few seconds before beginning to walk towards the back. 

"Sure," Stiles replied wondering if the man was just high as Hell or if there was something legitimately wrong with him. Stiles really didn't want to deal with a potential EMS call so, hopefully, if the man was going to keel over he'd wait until leaving the store. "Uh, sir? I think we might be out of Häagen-Dazs though. But we have our own brand vanilla." 

The man paused turning back and staring at Stiles like he'd just declared all the puppies in the world were to be drowned in the ocean. The man blinked quickly a few times, eyes glassy and bright. “I’m really sorry. It has to be Häagen-Dazs. It has to be vanilla," he said voice cracking on the last word. “Do you know where I could get some?”

"Uh, I could check the store room?" Stiles offered trying to head off the waterfall of tears that looked impending. "See if we have any in the back?"

The man nodded fervently. "Please." 

"Right, uh, just wait here," Stiles said before heading to the store room.

Luckily, buried in the back of their freezer Stiles found two tubs of Häagen-Dazs vanilla. Stiles fished them out cradling one tub in his elbow as he slid the freezer door shut again and headed back out to the man standing forlorn in the middle of the aisle where Stiles had left him. When he saw Stiles approaching with the promised Häagen-Dazs his whole face lit up with a relieved grin, his hands reaching out to take the ice cream like it was something magical. Practically hugging the tubs to his chest with a sigh of contentment he turned on his heel and made his way up towards the check out. Making a minor detour Stiles watched him snag a mini chocolate cake from the bakery shelf before the registers. Probably high then, Stiles decided. High as balls. But at least he was a sweet high. 

Shaking his head with a small chuckle Stiles dragged his cart to the other end of the aisle beginning to stock jars of mayonnaise. He was mildly concerned about the fact that mayonnaise had flown off the shelf today. Wasn't really sure what it meant if anything, but he was concerned. The sound of Angela making small talk with the man carried faintly to the back of the store overrun with sound of the cash drawer. Angela's chipper goodbye carried easily to the back followed by the sound of Angela locking the doors once the man had left. Stiles breathed out of sigh of relief and focused on stocking the shelves double time. He wanted out of here, dammit, and wasn't going to stay any longer than absolutely necessary.

He glanced up at the sound of Angela's approach confused to see her holding the mini chocolate cake and a fork. After a moment she held it and the fork out him. 

"That guy said this is for you," she said and Stiles furrowed his brow in confusion. 

"For me?" 

"Yep," Angela said practically shoving it at him until he accepted it. "He said he's going home to his eight-month pregnant wife and because of you he's not going to be murdered. So, you saved his life I guess." 

Stiles stared down at the cake in his hands. "Wow." 

Angela huffed rolling her eyes and turning to head back to the front muttering under her breath as she went, "Don't know why you men get so worried about things when we're pregnant. We're not _that_ bad." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always feel free to share your own stories.
> 
> Random Concierge Desk Story #2:  
> Last week a man came down two hours before my shift ended to complain of a leak in the hallway outside his apartment. I went up, checked it out, dug the single bucket out of the practically bare store room, and left a message with the property manager. The property manager returned my call and said to just monitor the leak and call back if it got worse. Curious as to why the ceiling was leaking, although I was aware there had been problems with water on that floor and the ones above and below, I tended the desk for a little while longer before deciding to check out the floor above and see if there was a problem there. As I was locking up the desk to leave again another man from the floor above came down and told me that there was a massive amount of water on the floor and everything was soaked. He told me a faucet had been left on in the apartment across from him and one of his roommates had turned it off but he came down to tell me. I went up with him and, yep, there was a giant puddle in the hallway and about six people were just standing around this door because apparently this was most interesting thing happening that night.  
> I don't know for sure but it looks like some asshole went into an unoccupied apartment (that was unlocked because of reasons (mostly that housekeeping and maintenance seem to be exceptionally lazy in keeping unoccupied apartments locked as I've wandered around five or six myself)) turned on the kitchen sink, plugged it, and left. The entire kitchen had about half an inch of water on the floor, the carpet was soaked, and all told it leaked through three floors. Both apartments beneath it are occupied. So...thanks, Asshole, for flooding three apartments because you're a jerk.


	3. The One Where Stiles Is Jewish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[insp.](https://notalwaysright.com/the-first-amendment-is-on-holiday/48491)]
> 
> I was gonna hold on to this one for a while, but _someone_ is making me feel bitter about life right now so here ya go.

**The One Where Stiles Is Jewish**

The holidays always presented Stiles with a particular challenge. A challenge that had only gotten worse now that he was gainfully employed in retail. Pre-employment he'd always just skirted the issue by never addressing it although he could still remember clear as day Scott's wide-eye look of horror when Stiles told him the Stilinski family didn't celebrate Christmas. That look of horror had be replaced by jealousy once Stiles explained Hanukkah. Then _that_ look had faded once he realized he and Stiles could just share the spoils of both holidays between them. 

At work, though, it just felt awkward to ignore or dance around the subject but he'd found a solution. After all "Happy Holidays" was a blanket well wishing that covered, well, basically everything. No one could get mad at you for wishing them a cheerful "Happy Holidays." 

Well, almost everyone.

Every once and a while there was always that  _one_ person. 

But those were rare and few between, and Stiles  _liked_ receiving cheerful well wishes in return, damnit. It brightened his day and there was literally nothing better than a four-year old standing on their tiptoes so their eyes just cleared the counter to shout, "Happy Holidays, Mister!" at him. 

"Okay, ma'am," Stiles said handing over the receipt to the middled-aged woman with a smile that was a little less than entirely forced today. "That's everything. You have a wonderful evening and Happy Holidays!"

The woman jerked her head up, staring at Stiles in shock like he'd just declared war or something. "No," she gasped. "No, young man. You said it wrong!"

Stiles frowned mentally replaying what he'd said. He was certain it was all okay. He hadn't accidentally spouted out an internal thought at work in _weeks_. "I'm sorry?"

"It's not Happy Holidays," the woman hissed still looking appalled, and abruptly it all made sense. She reminded Stiles strongly of six-year old Scott though he doubted she was horrified over the lack of Christmas presents he received from Santa. Stiles carefully schooled his features into polite attention saying nothing as she continued. "It's Merry Christmas! You need to quit being such a terrorist because it's people like you who are tearing this country apart!"

"Excuse me?" Stiles sputtered against his better judgement. Actually, no. He'd been ready to let her just go on her Christian-centric bullshit rant until she called him a terrorist. That was crossing a line. "How am _I_ a terrorist?" 

The woman leaned in, half over Stiles' counter forcing him to lean back in surprise. "You need to learn how to accept Christ and the Constitution into your heart and stop this hateful and destructive behavior." 

"Okay," Stiles said leaning farther back summoning up all of his reserves that he used to deal politely with ridiculous customers. "Ma'am, I apologize if I offended you—"

"We need to keep the Christ in Christmas!" the woman pressed. "It's vital!"

 _And_  there was the straw. Stiles narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. "I'm Jewish," he said. "I don't celebrate—"

"Oh my God!" the woman cried and Stiles idly appreciated the irony. "Does your manager know!" 

Stiles blinked cutting his gaze over to the manager. He was with Suha today and he wasn't actually sure if she knew or not. At the rather loud screech of the word 'manager' she'd looked up from the display she was arranging, expression clearly inquiring as to whether or not Stiles actually needed her. He gave a slight shake of his head. The woman across from him, having followed his gaze and concluding correctly that the woman by the store window was the manager, looked like her eyes might be trying to bug out of her head. Probably due to the pale blue hijab Suha was wearing. 

"I don't know," Stiles deadpanned turning back to her. "But if you want to ask her I suggest doing so quickly. She has to pray soon."

Sputtering like she couldn't quite believe his audacity, the woman snatched up her bags stalking towards the doors and muttering angrily about how she'd never shop in such a store again. Behind him, working the dreaded register fourteen, Stiles heard Angela snort. He was actually quite impressed she'd managed to hold it in for so long. 

"Christ and the Constitution?" she mimicked with a chuckle. "Apparently she doesn't know what the First Amendment is." 

"I don't doubt it," Stiles replied tracking the woman's path through the parking lot. 

By the front windows, Suha watched the woman leave impassively before crossing her arms and approaching Stiles' register. "Stiles, you know I don't pray at work." 

"Yes," he replied holding up one finger. "But the more important question is, did _you_ know I was Jewish?" 

"No," Suha said frankly without even a hint of amusement. If Stiles didn't know better he'd say she was related to Derek; aesthetically flawless and eternally unimpressed at all his shenanigans. "Do I look like I care?" 

"Not particularly." 

"I don't appreciate how you handled that," Suha said after a moment. "You need to be more polite, especially around the holidays. I could write you up." 

Stiles shrugged. He'd lost his fear of being written up approximately three hours into his second shift when he figured out there was a chronic shortage of people who actually worked here. "You could but you won't." 

"And why not?" 

"Because if you and Cheryl keep writing me up eventually _one_ of you will have to actually fire me and you can't do that." 

Suha sighed pinching the bridge of her nose. Sometimes Stiles got the feeling she didn't much appreciate his tendency to out-reason everyone. "And why not?" she repeated with forced patience.

"Because then you'd basically be left with Angela, Jocelyn, and Todd and everyone knows you can't run this store through the holidays with only two stockers and one cashier," Stiles said grinning. "Even if that cashier is Angela." 

"True that," Angela commented not even looking up from her register as she offered a half-hearted wave in tribute.

Suha rolled her eyes, but a faint smile seemed to be tugging at the corner of her lips. "Get back to work, Stiles," she said. "And _try_ to be nice." 

Stiles lazily saluted, "Aye, aye, Captain." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow on [tumblr](http://little-red-and-his-wolves.tumblr.com) for random updates.
> 
> Next chapter will feature either Lydia or Allison. Haven't decided yet. Maybe Erica.
> 
> What do you want? Shameless Lydia, embarrassed Allison, or Erica being a troll?


	4. Of Chocolate, Condoms, and Cherries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is actually quite surprised it took this long for him to run into someone he knew at his school. For her part though, Lydia doesn't seem to care at all.

**Of Chocolate, Condoms, and Cherries**

 Stiles almost dropped a can a peaches when he saw her come in. It wasn't that he was surprised per se, except he was actually quite surprised. Not to see her, but surprised it had taken him this long working at the store to run into someone he knew from school. The store wasn't particularly out of the way for anyone, nor was it a particularly popular store. If it were any other chain store than the one it was Stiles figured he'd have been fired long ago. But it was a desperate little store that didn't get near the business that it ought to, and it survived only through a throng of loyal strange customers and those customers who wandered in by accident. 

Lydia Martin, however, was neither of those. 

Stiles was reasonably sure she'd never stepped foot in the store before, but was equally certain she was here for a purpose. He tracked her movement through the shelves all the while convincing himself he wasn't being a complete creep about it. He was just curious, okay? It wasn't like this store was a stone's throw from her house. It was on the complete other end of town near, well, no one that Stiles knew of at any rate. It certainly wasn't the go to store for the, ahem, well off children of Beacon Hills. 

Eventually Lydia made her way up to the register with a basket-full of items that she plopped down on Stiles' belt without so much as a glance his direction. 

Stiles scanned her items, biting his lip as she tapped furiously at her smartphone pausing for only a second before letting out a huff of annoyance and starting her tapping anew. Stiles tried not to be nosy but he was scanning  _literally every item_ so it was hard not to take notice. Three bags of chocolate. A box of chocolate covered cherries. A jar of maraschino cherries. A tub of chocolate ice cream.  _The Notebook_. 

"Lydia, are you okay?" It slipped out before he could help himself as he scanned a box of tissues. 

Lydia stared at him in surprise. Stiles wasn't sure if it was surprise at seeing him or surprise at the question or maybe a combination of both. "Yeah, why?" She followed his gaze to her items then frowned. "I forgot something. I'll be right back."

She strode off before Stiles could protest only able to offer a weak smile of apology to the elderly couple behind her as he finished scanning the last few items. A package of twizzlers, a box of chamomile tea, and another movie he didn't recognize. He was still staring at the movie trying to figure out if he'd ever even heard of it before when Lydia returned and slammed something else back down on the belt causing him to flail a little before he looked up. 

It was a box of tampons.

Which, actually, explained the rest of her purchases. With that thought in mind Stiles felt his face heat up and made the mistake of glancing at Lydia. She just stared at him. 

And this was ridiculous. Stiles hadn't blushed over ringing up tampons since his first week. Then again, this was Lydia. 

She smirked at him. "Something wrong, Stiles?" 

" _No_ pe!"

Shaking himself out of the stupor he'd fallen in Stiles quickly snatched the tampons off the belt, scanned them, and dropped the box in the bag with the twizzlers and tea. 

"You know," Lydia said drawing the words out. "I think I may also need...these." 

Stiles swallowed again staring at the condoms she'd placed on the belt like they might actually grow teeth and bite him if he touched them. Another glance at Lydia proved that, yeah, she was doing her utmost best to fuck with him. 

Why was the never ending all important question. 

He snatched the condoms off the belt and tried to scan them so fast it didn't take the first three tries. Finally it went through and Stiles all but threw them in the bag fighting the urge to bury them beneath chocolate and chick flicks. 

"That'll be forty two and sixty nine," Stiles said voice cracking on the six so he wanted to melt through the floor and hid. He felt his face heat up further as his mind dropped straight to the gutter and refused to crawl out. 

Lydia's smirk grew as she whipped out a credit card and slid it through with a little flourish before tucking it away. Stiles swallowed hard and grabbed her receipt, pulling it off before it was even done printing and handing it over. 

"Have a nice day," he pushed out, going for professionalism and missing it by a wide mile. 

Lydia smile at him as she gathered her bags. "See you around," she said before sliding on sunglasses and leaving. 

Stiles deflated, practically falling against the register. The elderly couple moved their items up. 

"Crush of yours, dear?" the woman asked. 

Stiles sighed. "That obvious?" 

The woman simply patted his hand glancing at her husband. "Couldn't be more obvious if you tried," the man replied. 


End file.
